Clint Barton's Christmas
by BoomerCat
Summary: Clint Barton doesn't 'do' Christmas, but now that he's an Avenger, Tasha has told him he has no choice, he must show up if he wants the team to accept him. He'd rather run, especially when he hears Pepper Potts has decided to make this "the best Christmas ever" for all of the team. Yeah, it's all Clint, all the time, but the rest of the team is here too. Rated T for a few bad words
1. Chapter 1

Clint "Hawkeye" Barton slumped down in a ridiculously oversized recliner in his private suite near the top of Avengers Tower, a high rise building designed and built by his fellow Avenger, Tony Stark. Having grown up poor, Clint still wasn't totally comfortable with the ostentatious luxury of the apartment, but with the chair pulled up close to the window that covered one wall of the room, he could look out over the city and ignore the trappings of opulence.

As he slowly stretched out his muscles one by one, he had to admit to himself, regardless of how he felt about living with the other Avengers, the chair was a keeper. He slept in it most nights, and found he slept better than he ever had in a regular bed. According to Tony, it was ergonomically designed to Clint's measurements and weight, and it was by far the most comfortable piece of furniture he had ever had access to. He refused to even think "owned." He didn't own any of this except his clothes and his weapons, no matter what Pepper said.

As he watched, the overcast winter sky lightened. When the festive green lights adorning the top of the Chrysler Building winked out with the coming of morning, Clint sat up. He looked over at the kitchen area of the apartment, and heaved a sigh. He'd like to use the high end coffee maker and just spend the day here in his room, cleaning his weapons. But he knew that he was expected to join the others in the communal area of the upper floors. He considered just staying put anyway, but given Stark's domineering personality, and Rogers' commanding one, he knew if he stayed anywhere in the city, they'd rope him into their plans.

Clint grimaced to himself. He didn't need to stay in the city. He could get on his bike and head out into the country. Just drive. Just outrun his thoughts. That's what he had figured he'd do in the first place. But his partner, Natasha, had put an end to that just as soon as she realized his intention. She'd said she'd be damned if he was getting out of it, leaving her stuck. He'd suggested she could come with him, but she'd just given him a disdainful look.

He could, of course, ignore her. Most people were wary of the infamous Black Widow. But Clint knew her better. If he just left, she wouldn't kill him. She wouldn't maim him or hurt him. She'd be disappointed, but she'd get over it. She was more adult about things like this than he was, and he knew it. She'd understand his need to get away. She might not like it, but she'd understand.

And that was part of the problem. They'd all understand. They'd all be disappointed, but they'd understand. And he hated that. He was not some pathetic loser who couldn't face people. He was not a pitiable creature with a horrific childhood who needed people to make allowances for his bad manners. He had worked for years to be normal. Well, maybe not normal. What is normal about being an assassin? An assassin who specializes in long distance take downs with a bow and arrow? But still, he wanted to just be, well, sort of normal.

He'd stay, and do whatever it was Pepper wanted him to do. She was a good lady, and she'd made her plans for the day, and he would just go along. Of course, he didn't have to actually seek out people. Checking his watch, he calculated that Rogers would be out for his morning run. Everyone else would still be in bed. He could go out to the communal kitchen and grab some yogurt or power bars or something.

He'd make the coffee in the big urn so there was enough for everyone. That was something that would never have occurred to him a year ago. A year ago he was a happy-go-lucky spy without a care in the world. At least it seemed so in comparison to his life now. A year ago, he had never heard of an Asgardian asshole named Loki. Hell, he'd never heard of Asgard. A year ago, he still had his handler and mentor, Phil Coulson. A year ago, he was a trusted asset of S.H.I.E.L.D. Clint's mind skittered away from thoughts of the events of last Spring. He still hadn't come entirely to terms with the Battle of New York.

He thought again of the big coffee urn. He'd been staying in the tower, at Director Fury's insistence, for over a month, when one morning he noticed Tasha and Pepper talking quietly in one corner of the living area. He knew he was the topic of discussion. The two women kept glancing his way. Later that day, he'd cornered Tasha and asked her what was up. Tasha looked at him for a long time before deciding to tell him.

It seemed the discussion had been about Clint's avoidance of the coffee urn. Pepper had noticed that he always declined when offered coffee, but frequently appeared in the kitchen carrying a cup that he apparently had brewed in his room. Tasha had explained to Pepper that, as a spy, Clint was very wary of eating or drinking anything that could be drugged or poisoned. Pepper had not taken it well, saying that he was implying that someone in the tower would harm him... that he didn't trust his friends.

Tasha had shrugged and changed the subject, but told Clint he'd better watch his back around Pepper. At first it was actually a hard concept for Clint to accept. He viewed the other Avengers as co-workers, not friends. He wasn't even sure if Tasha was a friend. Sure, he trusted her. She'd had his back for years. But a friend? It just wasn't a word that ever occurred to him. And the idea of trusting the other Avengers, just because he worked with them? That just seemed plain crazy to him.

He kept those thoughts to himself, but when Pepper confronted him later that day, he denied that he didn't trust people. He lied easily, telling her that he just preferred the specialty coffee he kept in his room. Pepper crossed her arms and looked him in the eye, and queried Jarvis, asking exactly what kind of coffee was in Clint's kitchen. When Jarvis promptly replied that it was Folgers, Pepper had raised her eyebrows daring Clint to explain. Of course, Clint wasn't at the top of his field for nothing, and the next lie rolled off his tongue just as easily as the first. He told her that he'd grown up on Folgers, and he actually liked it better than the expensive premium coffee that was served in the kitchen.

Pepper accepted his answer, but then said she'd see to it that Folgers was available in the communal kitchen. When Clint had told Tasha, she'd blurted a laugh, and said that Pepper had his number. Clint had shrugged it off, saying he could take coffee that others had made. He did it all the time when he was in the field. Tasha had scoffed, reminding him of the mission that had caused the phobia in the first place. Since he'd been poisoned he was distrustful of anyone making him coffee, and nothing was going to change that.

The next morning, he'd accepted a cup of coffee from Dr. Banner, much to the man's surprise. He'd tried to drink it, he really had, but he'd ended up tossing it down the sink. Annoyed with himself, he'd sat down and brainstormed with Tasha, looking for a way to convince the others he trusted them, despite the fact that he didn't. They'd decided that he would make the coffee in the urn himself.

Making the coffee turned out to have other advantages, too. It gave the impression that Clint was finally becoming a team player, something that Captain America in particular was relieved about. Clint had gone along with the whole thing, keeping his thoughts to himself, letting the others believe what they wanted to believe.

Clint stood up, stretching his back before heading to the communal kitchen. He arrived and came to a dead stop, the air leaving his lungs in a gasp of surprise. He saw Steve standing at the open stovetop, flipping bacon with a pair of tongs. That was unexpected, but what had stopped Clint dead in his tracks was the large open living room. Up against the window wall was a tree that could only be described as gigantic. It took up half of the wall, standing almost to the twenty foot ceiling. It was covered in tiny white lights, but also in the large old fashioned colored lights that Clint vaguely remembered from his early childhood. Where there was space between the lights, he could see what had to be hundreds of ornaments of all kinds. And where there weren't ornaments or lights, there were gaily wrapped boxes that to Clint's trained eye were not just decorations, but had the weight of gifts inside.

The boxes on the tree were nothing compared to the gifts piled up on the floor under, and around and in front of the tree. There were what appeared to be hundreds of presents, each wrapped and tied with bright ribbons. On a side wall, there was an electric fireplace with a blazing faux fire. It seemed to be there simply to provide a mantle from which huge Christmas stockings hung. Clint couldn't help himself, he counted the stockings, and his stomach dropped. There were only six. With Pepper, that meant someone was left out. He knew instinctively who that was.

"Merry Christmas," Steve called out from the kitchen.

Clint's head swung around to look at the tall man. "Uh, yeah. Merry Christmas to you, too. I, uh, thought you'd be out on your run."

"Yes, well, I came out here to grab some water, and I saw all this, and I figured I'd start breakfast. You want to come make the coffee?"

"Yeah. What are you making?" Clint moved into the kitchen, steadfastly keeping his back to the disturbing display in the living room.

"Well, right now, I'm cooking up bacon and sausage. I reckoned I could do either eggs or pancakes when everyone else shows up."

"Okay, well, I guess I could do toast. If you think that's okay?"

"That'd be great, Clint." Steve said with a smile, then gestured to the living room. "So, what do you think about that?"

"It looks like Santa Claus barfed up Christmas all over the place."

Steve laughed. "Yeah, you're right. It's pretty amazing. Pepper must have been working on this for months."

The two men worked companionably for a while before Clint asked, "Is she bringing in orphans or something?"

Steve blinked. "What do you mean?"

"All those presents. All that stuff. Is she bringing in like, disadvantaged kids? Tony playing Santa Claus?"

"Well, I didn't look that closely, but I saw at least a couple of things with my name on them. And at least one for Bruce. I think it's all for us, actually. Why don't you go check it out? See what's there for you?"

Clint glanced at the tree, and dropping his head, he shook it. He was spared from answering by a loud rumbling cry. "What is this? Where are the goats? Good Yule, my friends! Shall we toast the All Father now? The sun is up! Let us have ale!"

Clint and Steve stared at Thor, bemused. Steve glanced at Clint who shrugged and turned back to the toaster. Steve smiled at Thor. "Merry Christmas, Thor. Isn't a little early to be drinking ale?"

"Lady Pepper explained to me that this Christmas of yours is the same as our Yule. Do you not drink ale and toast to the All Father on Christmas?"

"Uh, in a way, I suppose we do. Didn't Pepper explain what Christmas is?"

"Yes, yes, she told me of the birth of a child, a god. But her story does not explain all of this, friend Steve. Is there magic here? Does the tree grow from the floor without need of earth? And how did this fireplace come to be here? Where does the smoke go? What are all of these packages?"

"All will be explained, Thor. Merry Christmas, everyone. Steve, you've made bacon! Thank you so much, that is a huge help. Now, get out of the kitchen. I want to get the casserole into the oven. You too, Clint. Oh! You were making toast? You guys are the best! Thank you!"

Pepper Potts could be a force of nature when she wanted to be. She literally pushed the three Avengers out of the kitchen. "You guys go into the living room. Steve, you and Clint can explain all about Christmas to Thor. Clint? Where are you going?"

Clint lifted his head, and looked Pepper in the eye. "I want to go get dressed."

Pepper looked at his old ratty tee shirt and his sweatpants and nodded. "Okay, but don't be too long. Once the casserole is in the oven, it's only twenty minutes until breakfast."

Clint nodded and left the room, his stomach tightly clenched. His discipline was good enough that none of the others realized his turmoil. He made his way to his room, finally relaxing his rigid self control. He leaned back against the door, letting loose a shaky breath as he scrubbed his face with both hands. He looked around for something to throw, knowing full well that he wouldn't give in to such a childish display of anger.

After a few moments, he felt he had enough of a grip on his damned fool emotions to stand straight and head to his closet. He only glanced at the few sport jackets and decent slacks for a moment before reaching in and grabbing his riding leathers. He might have escaped the living room with his control intact, but there was no way he was going back there and dealing with...

He tossed the leathers on his bed and pulled the tee shirt up over his head. He was dropping the sweatpants from his hips when, after a perfunctory knock, Tasha entered the room. "Clint..."

The petite spy stopped when she saw the riding clothes on the bed. She turned a dead-eyed look on her partner. "I thought you'd decided to stick it out."

"Yeah, well, I changed my mind."

"Why?" Tasha asked bluntly.

Not willing to explain, Clint shook his head shortly, and sat on the bed to pull the stiff leather pants on. Tasha stood stock still, staring hard as if she could force him to answer with her eyes alone. He ignored her as he slid his feet into his boots. He stood up pulling up a zipper as he did so. Scooping up the jacket, he headed to the door, only to find his way blocked. "What?"

"I asked you a question. Why are you running?"

He moved to step around his partner, but she knew his moves as well as she knew her own and she countered him easily. "Tasha, get out of my way."

Hearing the anger, Tasha stepped aside, letting Clint pass. But when he entered the elevator, she entered with him. Not sure if he felt resentment or relief that she was there, he stubbornly refused to look at her. Clint put on his heavy leather jacket, shrugging to settle it comfortably across he shoulders. As he worked the zipper, Tasha asked in a cold uncaring tone, "What did you want me to tell Pepper?"

"Just tell her I went out."

"Out."

"Yeah."

"She'll be hurt, you know. She won't understand."

"It's not my job to make Pepper Potts understand."

"God, Clint, that's cold, even for you. She's done everything she can to make staying here as easy for you as possible. I thought you wanted to be normal. I thought you wanted to be part of something."

"Don't throw my words at me, Tasha," Clint ground out. The elevator door opened out to the massive garage. Clint strode out, walking away from his partner.

"Clint. Clint, stop. Tell me. Tell me what happened, why you need to escape."

Most people would not have heard the plea in Natasha's voice. Most people would have only heard the anger. Clint wasn't most people. He knew Tasha too well. He suddenly felt his stomach drop at the sound of the hurt in her voice.

Clint stopped and turned to Natasha. "Did you know what she was planning? Did you see what she did in the living room?"

A small frown flitted over the spy's face. "I know she wanted to have what she called the perfect Christmas. She said she didn't think any of us except maybe Steve had ever had a really great Christmas. But she didn't really get into it with me. I think she saw me as just another victim of bad holidays. Why? What did she do in the living room?"

Clint ground his molars, shaking his head. He didn't know how to explain it. How could he get Tasha to understand without revealing just how pathetic he truly was. "She went out and got the Christmas tree from Hell."

Tasha's eyebrows climbed. "From Hell?"

Clint hung his head, shrugging his shoulders. "She just... she just overdid everything. It's too much. I just don't want to... I just..."

He felt her hand rest softly on his shoulder. "Clint, it's only one day. You can put up with anything for one day. Remember Brussels? Or Managua? If you can endure that, what's a little comfort and joy? It will consolidate your position on the team, and it will make Pepper happy. And remember, when Pepper's happy, Tony's happy. We don't want a repeat of Halloween, right?"

Clint repressed a shudder at the thought. When Pepper was upset with Tony, the man went into a kind of manic overdrive to hide his emotions. On Halloween, that had translated into an attempt to 'draw the ghosts out of living beings.' They'd been washing monkey guts off the lab walls for weeks.

He shook off that memory only to be slammed up against others. "In Brussels, as I recall, there were chains involved, and in Managua, I was literally pinned to that damn board like a stinking butterfly. I didn't have much choice in either case. And Stark gets just as crazy when he's really happy."

"What will the others think if you run away?"

"Would you stop calling it running away?"

"What else should I call it? You obviously would have cut out without telling anyone you were leaving. You're like a damn dog with its tail between its legs. Running as fast as you can. How is that going to look to Captain America? Or to Thor? You think Bruce will be thrilled about it? And what if Fury finds out?"

Clint wouldn't look her in the eye. He knew it was futile to try and explain. He didn't have any real explanation himself other than his memories of an abusive childhood, and he wasn't about to explain those.

"Clint, you need to stay and see this through. I know it's hard for you. But you can't spend the rest of your life running from your rotten childhood."

Stung, Clint replied, "What makes you think it's my childhood?"

"Please. I'm not an idiot. Someday maybe you'll tell me about it, but for now, you just need to buck up and face it. I promise, I'll be right there with you."

Clint looked up at the concrete roof over his head as if he could see through the 90 odd floors to the living room that had so unsettled him. Knowing she had won, Tasha reached out and took her partner's hand. "Come on. They're going to be looking for us."

With a sigh, Clint followed docilely along to the elevator. When Tasha pushed the button, he looked at her questioningly. It wasn't the communal floor that she was taking him too. She looked at him for a moment then huffed in exaperation. "You can't show up in those leathers, Clint. They're inappropriately tight, and Pepper will swoon. And you know how it pisses Tony when Pepper swoons."

Clint snorted a laugh, and when they reached the floor with his apartment, he followed Tasha's lead to his apartment. He moved to his dresser to grab a pair of jeans and a decent tee shirt. Tasha approved the jeans, but then made him put on a long sleeved, button down shirt and a sport jacket.

Clint didn't mind. Left to his own devices, he'd wear his S.H. .D. uniform all day every day. He'd gotten used to having Tasha telling him what to wear. She cared, and he didn't give a damn, so it worked out. He did put his foot down when she started looking at his tie rack, though. Knowing she was lucky he hadn't run off, she didn't push for the tie, and after a short time they were back in the elevator headed for what promised to be a... memorable... Christmas.

The two spies came out into the area between the kitchen and living room. Both froze. Clint because Bruce and Tony had arrived and along with Steve and Thor and Pepper, they were making a friendly racket as they lined up in the kitchen to fill their plates with breakfast. Tasha stood staring wide-eyed at the Christmas display in the living room.

"Oh, there you two are! Come grab a plate before it gets cold."

Clint swallowed once, then moved to the back of the line behind Bruce. Bruce was clearly nervous, looking around at the food lined up on the counter, and at Clint coming up next to him. He smiled softly and said, "Good morning. Oh, uh, I guess it's Merry Christmas, not good morning, right?"

Keeping his voice low, Clint answered for the scientist's ears only. "I'm perfectly happy with plain old good morning. Merry Christmas doesn't really mean the same thing to me that it does to other people."

Bruce did a double take, then relaxed a bit. "I know what you're saying. I don't really have any what you would call good Christmas memories, but then I suppose you don't either."

"No."

"What do you think of the extravaganza over there?"

Clint shrugged. "I'm trying not to think much at all today. Seems safer." It was oddly comforting to be able to speak openly with someone about his feelings. From what he had heard, Bruce was the only one who had a background like his own. Although while he was orphaned at the age of six, Bruce's home life lasted longer, just with a totally abusive father.

"Clint, try the one on the left. It's got chiles in it. I think you'll like it. Bruce, take more. I've got another whole dish in the oven. There's plenty for all. Tony, stop that! God, were you born in a barn? If you don't like something, just leave it on your plate, don't put it back in the serving dish!" Pepper was a whirlwind, presiding over breakfast like a den mother, which Clint supposed she was, in a way.

With a full plate in one hand, and a mug of coffee in the other, Clint looked around for some place to sit. To his dismay, he saw all of the stools at the breakfast bar were taken, and the only available seating was in the living room. All of the couches had been repositioned to face the Christmas tree. Clint looked around in desperation, but Tasha came up behind him, and said softly, "There's no use fighting it. Come, we will sit on the couch, and we will ignore the bourgeois capitalistic spectacle."

Tasha's aversion to ostentatious displays was always in direct contrast to her delight in pretty clothes and shoes, so her comment caused a tickle of delight to run up Clint's spine. With Bruce, the two spies moved to the couches. Instinctively, both men chose the couch furthest from the display, each taking a corner, leaving the center for Natasha. She sniffed in disdain and sat in the corner of the couch next to Clint's, curling her legs up under her.

Clint sat back and started to balance his coffee cup on the arm of the couch. The rounded arm made it difficult, and after a moment, Tony called out behind him, "Hey, I've got you guys covered!"

Clint felt a touch of alarm. Any time the genius inventor made a comment like that something was about to happen. And it wasn't always something good. He looked up at the soft whir of an electric motor, and saw three identical machine things crawling across the floor toward him. As he watched, the three things split up, and one headed for Bruce, and another went toward Tasha.

Those two he actually saw out of the corner of his eye. Most of his attention was on the one headed straight for him. He watched warily as it trundled up close and came to a stop. With a different sound, small 'feet' appeared to steady the thing. Then a hatch on the top slid open, and a telescoping rod appeared. It stretched upward until it was slightly above Clint's knees. Then, with a slight clang it shut down.

From the colorful invective coming from Stark it was apparent that this was not the outcome the genius expected. Clint glanced over at Bruce, then quickly looked away, to keep from laughing out loud. He heard Nat just heave a bored sigh next to him. He couldn't help his remark. "Impressive Tony. But as phallic symbols go, I've seen better."

Bruce was trying desperately not to snicker, but it was a losing battle. Thor, seated as close to the food as he could get, had no such compunctions, and was laughing outright. Even Steve was chuckling. Pepper came up behind Clint, and placed her hand on his shoulder. "Alright, enough of that. This is Christmas, and my first rule of the day is, if you're going to tease each other, keep it clean."

Clint frowned. He thought he had been keeping it clean. He could have said something much more lewd. If Pepper hadn't been in the room, he would have. Bruce looked over, and seeing the archer's confusion, said in a stage whisper, "That means no mention whatsoever of genitalia. Leave the boobs, pussies and dicks out of it."

Everyone laughed at that, even Clint, but despite his snicker, he was actually grateful for Bruce's comment. Clint was aware that his carny background sometimes slipped through in a level of vulgarity that wasn't shared by the marks of the world. Phil had helped a lot to clean up Clint's language, but Phil was gone.

Before Clint could follow that thought down a rabbit hole of regret, Tony barked out a loud "Ha!" The rod in front of Clint started up again, this time extending several leaves out of the top. These leaves unfolded like a flower to form a flat platform about 18 inches on each side. Once the platform was formed, the machine shut down. Clint glanced over to Natasha who shrugged.

Figuring the show was over, Clint set his plate down next to him and picked up a piece of toast. He chewed on the toast staring at the platform in front of him, wondering what he was supposed to do with it. Bruce sat with his head down, shoveling food into his mouth ignoring the platform and everything else in the room.

Tony huffed an exasperated sigh, saying, "Guys, it's a plate rest. You put your plates and cups on it. Clint, go ahead, try it. Put your plate on the stand."

Clint glanced over his shoulder at Tony. "Looks flimsy."

"It's not. You could sit on it all day and it wouldn't break. Try it."

Clint eyed the platform warily. "Stark, if this thing dumps food on me, you're gonna regret it."

"Clint, please..." Pepper said softly. At her plea, Clint sighed and reached over to put his plate on the platform. From the base, a red laser light suddenly shot out, lighting up his chest. His reaction was instantaneous. He dove to the left, smacking into Bruce who lifted his plate up to prevent spillage, but otherwise acted as if this were a daily occurrence.

"Jeezus, Stark, don't you know better than to light up an agent like that?" Natasha barked out angrily.

"You okay?" Bruce looked down at Clint who had rolled over on his back, his head on Bruce's lap. The scientist sat patiently, holding his plate above his head, waiting for Clint to sit up.

Clint regarded the man calmly, and with a sigh, asked quietly. "What do you think? Laugh the whole thing off or kill Stark?"

"As satifying as killing Tony might be, it probably would put a damper on the Christmas spirit," Bruce responded thoughtfully.

"Oh, I don't know. It could be my Christmas present to everybody."

"Yes, because nothing says Santy Claus like a bloody corpse."

"You have your Christmas traditions, I have mine," Clint responded as he sat back up.

"You have a Christmas tradition, Clint?" Pepper asked, a smile on her face.

Surprised that she had heard his softly spoken comment, Clint looked at her and deadpanned. "Yeah, I go sacrifice a chicken to Saint Sebastian."

Bruce snorted a laugh, and Natasha rolled her eyes. Not quite getting it, Pepper asked with a wary smile, "Why Saint Sebastian?"

"Patron saint of archers."

Steve shook his head, then commented, "I'm surprised it's not Virgin Maria Auxilitrix."

Not missing a beat, Clint said, "She gets a goat."

Having missed most of the conversation, Tony looked confused. "What? So who is this Virgin Mary Auxiliary, and what does she get a goat for?"

"She's the patron saint of assassins and I sacrifice a goat to her, but usually on New Year's Eve."

"Yes! Friend Hawkeye, we must sacrifice goats, many goats!" Thor thundered. "But my tradition is to sacrifice them today. Will your goddess be angered if you honor her today instead of on this New Year's Eve?"

Seeing the dismay spreading through the room, Clint couldn't help himself. "No, she doesn't care when it is, just as long as the intent is pure. I can get us about a dozen goats from a place I know upstate. We can take Tony's Escalade."

"No you can't," Tony stated in a flat tone.

Deliberately misunderstanding, Clint replied innocently, "Yeah, sure we can. Goats aren't all that big, and we'll just drop the back seats. They'll fit with no problem. Thor, I usually just use my bow, but I can get us an axe if you want."

"No, we must use a blade concecrated to the All Father. I can do that myself with a drop of my own blood." The big man strode to the kitchen and selected a large carving knife from its wooden block, and made as if to slit his stomach.

"Thor! Stop that! You aren't using my good knife to commit hari kari!" Pepper hurried over.

"It's okay, Thor, I got what you need in my room. I think we'd better use a tarp though. Save on the mess."

"No, friend Hawkeye. The blood must flow free. We shall need a bowl to catch it in. But then it must be sprinkled throughout the home. I'll need twigs for the hlautteiner, I'd like birch or cedar, but any will do. We'll bind them together to dip in the hlaut and sprinkle it around."

Pepper was beside herself. "Hlaut? That's goat blood? And you want to sprinkle it around my house?"

"Twelve goats. That's a lot of blood. I was thinking Tupperware, but now I think we'll need the popcorn bowls. There's what, eight of them? That should hold most of the blood. Now, Thor, do they need to be consecrated like the knife?"

"Yes. Ideally they should be made of copper." Clint's eyes followed Thor's as the Asgardian looked above the cooking island at the array of copper pots hanging tantalizingly close.

With a screech that made everyone in the room jump, Pepper bolted to get between Thor and her cooking island. With fire in her eye, she pointed her finger first at Thor, then Clint. "Rule number two. There will be no goat sacrifice. Period. Ever."

Thor looked disappointed, hanging his head. Clint, along with everyone else, started laughing. Pepper realizing it was a joke, rolled her eyes and shook her head. "Alright, rule number three, no pulling pranks on Pepper at the expense of Thor." She looked over at the smirk on Clint's face. "Or at all, Clinton Barton. No pranks. This is a prankfree area. Got it?"

Heaving a sad sigh, Clint nodded his head. He sat down, and when the laser once again sighted on his chest, he froze, but did not react any further.

The machine started up, and the platform, with his cooling breakfast moved forward until it was within easy reach. With his eyebrows raised, Clint reached out with a finger to press down on the platform. He felt a warmth coming up from the platform, and he was surprised to find his breakfast still hot and ready to eat. He grunted with satisfaction, and dug in.

It was only when people started moving that Clint realized everyone had been watching him. He glanced around and found that he was the only one eating, everyone else having eaten while listening in on the planning of the goat sacrifice. He saw Pepper staring at him, so he swallowed what was in his mouth and cleared his throat. "Uh, this is really good. Thank you, Pepper."

The woman smiled, and nodded, "You're very welcome, Clint."

He went back to his meal, which really was very tasty. He could feel eyes on him, and a glance around showed him that everyone was still staring at him. Clint felt his blood pressure start to creep up. Despite a successful early career in the circus, he had never cared for being the center of attention. His experience told him that attracting attention was a way to get hurt, and he avoided the that particular pain at all costs.

His internal tension grew until he was just about ready to rip out some throats, when Tasha leaned over, and with a hand on his arm, said softly, "Unspoken rule. No one can open gifts until everyone has finished eating breakfast."

Clint hid his annoyance. It was just the kind of thing that always happened to him. An unspoken rule. The kind that everybody else understood, but never told him about. He looked at his plate, and realized it was empty anyway, so he put it on the platform and sat back. "Sorry."

"Okay, and that's rule number four. No apologies. We're all friends here, and there is no reason for anyone to feel any need to say they are sorry. Bruce, I hope you're listening."

Bruce, who had been sitting quietly, trying not to be noticed, started, "Uh, Sorry?"

Everyone laughed, then laughed harder at the confused look on the scientist's face. With a sympathic grin, Pepper said, "Rule number four, Bruce. No one is going to say 'sorry' today."

Realizing why everyone was smiling, Bruce shrugged. "No promises. Sorry is one of my go to words."

Clint snickered. "Yeah, me too."

"Not me. I never say I'm sorry. I just don't see the need too," Tony piped up, with a smarmy grin.

"And that is exactly why you are the way you are." Tasha replied flatly.

Tony frowned for a moment, then shrugged off the possibility of an insult lurking in Natasha's words. "The way I am at the moment is sadly presentless. Let's get this show on the road. I think I'll open that one first."

Tony pointed at a huge box at the back of the tree. He started to move toward it, but Pepper intercepted him. "You will not. That's not for you."

"How can it not be for me? It's the biggest present there."

"Friend Tony, should not the largest gift be for the largest Avenger? Would that not mean it is mine?" Thor said, a smile of anticipation on his face.

"Oh, well then, I guess that would mean it's mine…" Bruce ventured shyly.

"Down, boys. You'll all find out soon enough. Now, who should be Santa Claus?"

Clint wasn't particularly interested in the large box, but the comment about Santa Claus confused him. Bruce saw his frown and leaned over. "The person who hands out the presents is called Santa Claus."

Clint's eyes widened in enlightenment. It occurred to him that if he was the Santa Claus, nobody would notice that he wasn't receiving any presents. Before he could say anything, Steve beat him to it, a happy grin on his face. "I'll do it. I used to do it when I was a kid."

The tall Avenger turned to the tree and it's plethora of gifts, and selected one about the size of a shoebox. "Tony, here's one for you."

"And as is only appropriate, I'm first!"

Tony reached for the box, and with an exasperated frown, Steve drew it back. "Í think I may have to reconsider this."

"Too late!" Tony smirked as he used a boardinghouse reach to snatch the box from Steve's hands.

Steve laughed and turned back to the pile of gifts. Clint's stomach had tightened, and though he never let it show on his face, he was ready to bolt. Tasha knew him well, and reached over to take his hand, squeezing tight, instilling courage, and Clint relaxed minutely. Steve had handed a gift to Thor, and another to Pepper, and now was stepping over to hand a smallish box to Tasha.

She started, surprise flitting across her features. She took the box and stared at it. Clint watched his partner, a smirk on his face. He said quietly for her ears only, "Do you think they'd notice if we dropped it in water, first?"

Tasha shot him a dirty look. "Pepper Potts has not booby-trapped the Christmas presents, Clint."

"Yeah? You sure she's the only one who's had access?"

"Stop it." Tasha responded with a frown. She started pulling at the tape on the wrapping paper, but Clint noticed she was holding her breath.

"Clint."

Clint looked up at Steve standing in front of him. "Yeah?"

Steve raised his eyebrows, and gestured to the box in his hands. "Here, this one's yours."

"Oh. Uh, okay. Thanks." Clint couldn't look the man in the eyes, as he took the gift.

Steve moved on to deliver yet another gift, leaving Clint staring at the box. It was a smallish box, professionally wrapped in shiny blue and green paper, and tied with purple ribbon. Tiny bells nestled in the center of the bow and the entire effect was beautiful.

Clint sighed. He had experience with beautifully wrapped presents before. As a kid in an orphanage, he'd quickly learned that the prettier the wrappings, the more generic the crap inside the box was. He knew that Pepper meant well, but there was nothing she could get him, nothing that he needed.

He stared at the box, and finally came to terms with it, a small smile blooming. He took the box and put it into the corner of the couch, pushing it down behind him. He realized it didn't matter what was in the box, just that Pepper had cared enough to get him something. He decided to keep the wrapped present as a remembrance of Pepper trying to give him a good Christmas.

He looked over at Tasha, to see her staring in wonder at a necklace of fine jade. Clint's smile widened. He loved it when Tasha was surprised, especially when it was a good one. "That's pretty."

She looked over at him, and with a misty smile, shook her head. "It is crass and capitalistic, but so lovely. Help me."

Tasha leaned back, handing the necklace to her partner. Clint opened the delicate clasp and settled the pretty piece around her neck. She sat back with a soft smile, gently stroking the warm stones as they hung on her chest. Clint looked at her, then nodded. "Suits you."

Tasha smiled, but didn't reply. Steve looked over at them. "You two look like you could use another present."

With a grin that was as close to a smirk as he was ever likely to come, Steve selected two more gifts from the pile and turned to the two agents. Clint felt a smirk of his own threatening to show as the man held up one gift that was obviously a teddy bear. He was thinking that handing that bear to Tasha was a good way for Steve to find himself flat on his back, but much to his surprise, the tall Avenger stopped in front of him, and held out the bear.

Clint cocked an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"

"Tag says Hawkeye. That's you as I recall. Here," Steve said, delight coloring his voice.

"Uh, no." Clint deadpanned.

Pepper looked up at the confrontation from across the room. "Oh! Oh, Clint, that's for you! Isn't it adorable?"

"Absolutely!"

"Yup, adorable's the word…"

Clint sighed as everyone jumped on the Tease Barton Express. Steve held it out to his team mate, holding it tantalizingly close. "You know you want it. Just give in. Just take it."

"Get it out of my face or you'll be eating it," the archer growled.

The threat had little effect on Captain America, and he simply stood there saying, "You're holding us up, Barton. Take it so I can give this fine box to Natasha."

"That's for me?" Tasha squeaked.

She reached for the box, but Steve pulled it away, holding it above his head. "Sure is, and you can have it just as soon as your partner takes his gift."

Clint crossed his arms and frowned, looking away from both Avengers. Tasha said in a deceptively soft voice, "Barton, you are keeping me from my present. MY present. Reconsider."

Clint rolled his eyes and accepted the teddy bear-shaped gift. Steve handed Tasha her gift, and she took it delicately, saying for Steve's ears only. "And you were keeping me from my gift, too. Don't do it again."

Steve just laughed, and turned to Thor, who was demanding another gift. Clint sat staring at the teddy bear gift sitting on his lap. Unlike the previous box, it was too big to slip into a corner, and besides everyone had seen it. Even now, he could feel Tony and Bruce glancing over to see if he'd opened it yet.

Realizing if he put it off any longer, he'd be teased even more, he grabbed the paper, and ripped it apart. To his surprise, no stuffed animal was revealed. The teddy bear shape had been achieved by cleverly bending strips of lightweight cardboard. Once the cardboard fell away, Clint was left with a plastic bag full of black socks.

A typical generic gift, just like the things he'd gotten all his life, Clint was about to set it aside, when he looked closer at the socks. With a slight frown, he opened the bag, and pulled a pair out. His eyebrows climbed as he looked the soft socks over. "Tasha, are these…"

Tasha looked over from the dress she was admiring and frowned. "Are they what?"

"God, these are those Belgian socks! How did she know to get me these Belgian socks?" Clint was amazed.

The best socks he had ever had in his life had been a pair he had been forced to steal from a target he had eliminated outside of Winnipeg after chasing him halfway around the world. In the man's last desperate attempt to escape his fate, he had pushed Clint into a small stream. It hadn't seemed like a big deal at first, but the sub forty degree temperature quickly put the archer's life at risk. He had stolen the dead man's clothes in order to survive.

When he'd reached the safe house, he'd discarded the clothes without a thought. All except the socks, that had kept his feet more warm and dry than any pair of socks that he had ever had. He had worn those socks for years, and refused to throw them out even when they were more holes than socks. When Tasha had finally tossed them in an incinerator in Vladivostok he had been furious and sad. And though he searched through the shops of every Belgian town that he visited over his career, he had never found another pair.

Clint sat stunned for several moments before he leaned down to remove his boots. He put on the socks in his hand, and sat back with an odd little smile on his face. They were absolutely the socks. He wiggled his toes and felt the familiar settling of the material against the sole of his foot. He'd figured out a long time ago that the socks of his dreams had a stronger elastic in the sole portion that caused the socks to hug his foot in a way that just felt good to him.

Clint watched as Pepper moved across the minefield of gifts littering the floor. "Pepper, how the hell did you find these socks? I searched all over the place for them."

Pepper smiled. "These are the ones? Oh, I'm so pleased. I was afraid they weren't the right ones."

"Yeah, but how did you find them? I mean, Tasha threw my one pair of them out a couple of years ago. And by the time she even saw them, they were in pieces."

"Oh, Clint, don't you believe in Christmas miracles?"

Clint's face lost its animation. He didn't want to offend Pepper, but Christmas miracles? Only fools and young children believed in miracles or Christmas.

He took a breath to consider what lie to tell her, but Pepper had seen something in his face and shook her head. "Don't answer that. It's okay. I know you were never given any reason to have faith. But let me tell you about the miracle that happened. It was Steve."

Steve, who had just delivered yet another gift to Bruce, heard his name and turned to Pepper. "What was me?"

"Remember when I was telling you about trying to track down a store that sold the most amazing socks and you said to think outside of the box and I'd find it?"

Steve's eyebrows climbed. "Are those the amazing socks? Gee, I thought they'd be neon-colored at least."

"Barton doesn't do pink," Tasha murmured as she leafed through the book she had just received.

"Yes, well, anyway, I tried to think outside of the box, but the only thing I knew about the socks was that they were black, had heavy support through the sole, and were made in Belgium. Oh, and that you had taken them from a Belgian assassin." Pepper shook her head. "Well, I thought about that for a bit, then I had Tony hack into SHIELD's database for information on that assassin."

Clint frowned. "Pepper, you shouldn't be doing things like that. VerHoeven was a dirty piece of work."

"I'm not a delicate little flower, Clint. But I agree, that man was a monster. But he had one thing in common with you..."

"He had nothing in common with me," Clint responded coldly.

"No, he didn't, except that I noticed that he traveled all over the world to kill people. You're very well-traveled, too."

With a snort, Clint nodded curtly. "Yeah, so?"

Pepper rolled her eyes. "So, Tasha says you always referred to them as the Belgian socks. As soon as I figured out it was the assassin who was Belgian, I realized that there was nothing to say that the socks were Belgian at all. Once I climbed out of that box, it was almost easy. Clint, these socks were manufactured in a little village in Lithuania. VerHoeven had a safe house there."

Clint sat back, working to keep the slack-jawed amazement he felt from showing on his face. "You went to all that trouble just to find me some socks for Christmas?"

"Well, yah, of course. Let me tell you, Clint Barton, you don't make it easy. Mr. I-need-nothing-I-want-nothing."

The odd little smile came back to Clint's face. "I absolutely need these. I just didn't know it."

"And there are a lot of other things here that you didn't know you needed. Steve, hand Clint that box over there. The one with the Santas on it." Pepper pointed to good sized box. "Oh, and while he's opening that, you open this one."

Steve brought over both gifts, and handing Clint his, sat down next to him to open the gaily wrapped box that had been marked with his name. As Pepper was called away by Tony, Steve picked at the tape, and asked, "How you holding up?"

Clint looked over at the tall man. "Me? I'm holding up fine. Why?"

"No reason. Just wanted to let you know there's a lot more where that came from. If I were to guess, I'd say there are 20 to 25 gifts for each of us. We'll be opening things for another hour at least."

Clint dropped his half-opened gift onto his lap. "That's crazy! Why would she do this? Why would she put that much effort into something like this?"

Steve shrugged. "She was talking a few weeks ago about how she knew that none of us had really good Christmas memories, and she wanted to change that."

"Well, I guess you could say this is memorable."

Steve chuckled. "I'll say. It was worth it just to see the look on Natasha's face when she first saw the living room. And on yours when you realized those were those special socks. But you know, you really have a lot to learn about Christmas traditions."

"What do you mean? What did I do wrong this time?"

Steve looked earnestly into the archer's eyes. "Clint, nobody, but nobody gets excited about socks at Christmas. The traditional response to socks is to roll your eyes and toss them over your shoulder, and go on to your next gift."

"Yeah? Well, the next time we're fighting in knee deep snow, and I'm warm and dry, and your toes are frozen, I'll remind you of this conversation."

Steve laughed. "I never said socks weren't useful, but as Christmas gifts go, they're pretty far down the list of most wanted things... Oh my! Look at... Are they..."

Clint looked at the flabbergasted man, who was pawing through a box of what looked liked old magazines, each in its own protective plastic sleeve. Clint reached in and picked up one the the magazines and gazed at the cover. "Doc Savage, Man of Steel? What are these? Old comics?"

Steve, whose face was red with excitement, responded, "No. This is like, before comic books, really. Back in the day, we called it 'pulp fiction' because it was printed on really cheap paper. Doc Savage is really like the first of the superheroes. I loved this when I was growing up. I can't believe she found them all. This is amazing!"

Clint smirked. "Ah, so this is your version of special socks. Maybe you should roll your eyes and toss them over your shoulder."

Steve grinned and nodded at Clint's half-opened box. "What did you get?"

"Uh, not sure yet," Clint said. He tore the paper from the box. "Oh. Wow."

Steve looked over at the box. "Drones? What do you need drones for? What kind of drone is it?"

Clint was working to open the box. The graphic on the front did say drone, but there was no picture, and in fact, it was cryptic. When he got the box open, his eyebrows climbed. "You're kidding," he muttered.

"What? Let me see." Steve said, and in fact, Clint was once again the center of attention. He sat for a minute debating pulling the drone out. If they all saw it, he wouldn't be able to use it to spy on them. But then, he realized by its very nature, it would still be effective in watching anything going on in the tower.

Clint reached into the box and carefully pulled out the drone. It felt good as he handled it. A good weight, with a sense of hard muscle under a layer of softness. Bruce exclaimed in surprise, "A cat? Is that a drone or a real cat?"

Clint set the cat down on the couch beside him, and watched with real pleasure as some default sub routine caused it to curl up just like a real cat. He had to admit, it was a perfect copy of the real thing. It was mostly black with a white chin and three white legs. On impulse, Clint reached over and stroked it, and it felt real, and to his delight, it actually made a purring sound.

Really interested now, Clint reached into the box and pulled out a control box that was actually a tablet, and turned it on. He became engrossed in reading the instructions on the screen. After a few moments, though, the sounds of an argument disrupted his concentration. Well, it wasn't so much an argument as it was Tony throwing a minor temper tantrum. "I can't believe you'd get him Morton tech. You don't think your own damn company couldn't have come up with a drone that he'd want?"

"Tony, we're not doing this. Not today. Not here. It's Christmas, for God's sake. You promised you'd be good, and I'm going to hold you to that promise."

"Just tell me this. How did you get a hold of that? I know their entire line, and there is no such thing as a cat drone."

"I told you I met the CEO at that conference in October. I told you we connected. He offered it to me because he knew I was connected with you. He thought it would be good for the team. And I agree."

"You didn't give it to the team. You gave it to Barton. He'll probably break it. You should have given it to me."

"But I didn't give it to you. Instead, I got you this."

Clint glanced up to see Tony being distracted by the large gift Pepper was handing him. Sighing, he realized if he did what he wanted, which was to study the controls on his new drone, he would cause Tony's annoyance to grow. He set the tablet back into the box, and went to pick up the drone. As he lifted it, he realized his hands had automatically gone to hold it as if it were a real animal. He half expected it to wake up and object to be put back in the box. As he deposited it gently, his mind was considering what poison he could tip the cat's claws with.

He would have turned to Tasha to ask for her thoughts on the subject, but as he watched her opening a box and murmurring with delight at the delicate stiletto within, he realized this wasn't the place and time. With a smile, he extended his hand, "Let me see."

He could see the momentary reluctance in her eye as she obediently handed over the knife. He looked the stiletto over, checking the weight, balance and strength of the steel. Handing it back hilt first, he nodded. "That's a good blade."

"No, you can't borrow it. Not until it's been blooded."

Clint grinned. "My cat will come steal it for me."

"If that thing shows up in my suite, I will personally bring the knife to you," Tasha purred, all threat and seduction.

Clint chuckled and turned to look at Steve. Captain America had come to complete stop, still immersed in his box of old magazines. Clint looked past him to Bruce, who looked back with an amused smile for the captain's oblivious state. Clint poked the man in the arm, and when Steve looked up with a dazed expression, Clint shook his head. "Steve, man, if you're gonna play Santa Claus, you can't stop in the middle. Back to work."

Steve looked around, seeing everyone sitting, staring at him. "Oh, uh... Well, I'd say sorry, but you know... rule number four."

Everyone laughed as Steve set aside his treasure and stood up. He moved quickly, grabbing gifts for everyone, and handing them out. He handed Clint four different boxes at once, and then gave five to Tasha. He dumped several on Bruce, then headed back to get something for Thor.

Clint looked over at Bruce, who looked about as bewildered as Clint felt. Clint caught the scientist's eye and asked, "How are you doing over there?"

Bruce smiled wryly, "About as well as you, I suppose. Have you gotten a PPK gift yet?"

Clint grinned, delighted that Bruce knew foster kid code. A PPK (poor pathetic kid) gift was a very expensive but ultimately useless gift that some rich guy bought to make himself feel good. Clint remembered one year that his brother Barney had gotten a really cool set of electric drums that had required a shitload of nine volt batteries that they had no way to get. "No, you?"

"The amazed circuits in my brain overloaded two gifts ago."

Clint's eyebrows went up. "I've only opened two."

"Yes, well, while you were fawning over your footwear the rest of us were still opening gifts. Get it in gear, Hawkeye, you're falling behind."

Clint grinned, then turned back to his four gifts, thinking that he hadn't smiled this much at one time in his life. Choosing the biggest of the four boxes, he shredded the paper, then stared at the plain brown cardboard box. Steve was back, and holding a long package of his own. He saw Clint pausing and nudged his arm. "Oooo, it could be anything."

From his other side, Tasha said firmly, "No, you are not dunking it in water."

Clint started, knowing that was just what he had been thinking. It could be anything, and there was no way to tell if it had been tampered with. Pepper had to have been storing all of the gifts she was collecting somewhere, and who knew who could have gotten into the storage and booby-trapped something.

Tasha leaned over and offered him her new knife. "Here. This will slit the tape."

Not taking the knife, Clint looked down at it and said, "I thought it had to be blooded."

"Expose your neck. I'll blood it right now."

Clint rolled his eyes and reached down to his boot to pull his own knife there. With a smirk, Tasha pulled her stiletto back, and turned to her own pile of gifts. Steve watched Clint slit the tape on the box, and shook his head. "You brought a knife to a Christmas party?"

Clint slid the knife back into its sheath, saying, "Nobody told me it was a Christmas party. I didn't get any kind of invitation in the mail, so yes, I did bring a knife to a Christmas party. Gun, too. Wanna see?"

"I didn't know you could play..." Steve commented as Clint pulled a guitar case out of the box.

"Depends on what you consider 'playing'. I've kinda fiddled around with guitars for a long time, but I'm no Eric Clapton... Oh, this is nice." Clint said softly as he took the guitar out of the case. The sound board was a soft honey maple, and the ebony neck was inlaid with mother of pearl which matched the tuning pegs. When Clint softly strummed the strings, the sound, though slightly off-key, was deep and mellow.

It was exactly the kind of guitar that Clint had always wanted, but had been out of reach of his government salary. He smiled with genuine pleasure, again surprised at how well Pepper had chosen. Knowing he had to 'keep up', Clint reluctantly set the guitar back in its case and turned to the next box.

Again Steve nudged him. "No, not that one. The long one. In the blue paper. It looks the same size as the ones Bruce and I got. Come on, we'll open them together."

Clint looked over at Bruce, who shrugged with a smile, holding up his identically sized gift. Clint fought down a pang of memory. A foster home with identical gifts. For his foster parents own kids, the boxes had contained elaborate Lego sets. For Clint, the same shaped box contained hand me down clothing, most of which was too small, and all of which was stained and ratty.

He forced a smile and pulled out the matching box from his pile. Like a kid, Steve called out, "On your mark. Set. Go!"

All three men ripped into their gifts, and if Clint was a little reluctant, the enthusiasm of the other two carried him along. He got his gift open in record time, and hardly thought about the possible danger. When he pulled a snowboard out, he exclaimed with delight, "Wow! Cool!"

His team mates also pulled out snowboards. Steve looked confused, but Bruce, to Clint's surprise looked as thrilled as Clint felt. Seeing Steve's look, Bruce chuckled. "It's a snowboard, Steve. Think of it as a fat single ski. Clint and I will teach you."

"I heard there's good powder at Blue Mountain."

"You don't like Stowe?"

"Sure, if they have good snow, I'll go anywhere."

"Okay, we can check it out this afternoon. Maybe head out tomorrow. God, I haven't been boarding in ages. I can't wait."

Clint grinned at Bruce's enthusiasm. Seeing Steve still wasn't sold on the idea, he said, "Give it a chance, Cap. You're going to love it."

Gently setting the snowboard aside Steve shrugged, "If you say so."

Clint snickered as he ripped into his next present. This proved to consist of two boxes. One contained snow boasd bindings, and the other held boots. Knowing that all of these items were beyond his financial reach, he could only sit back and stare.

"Pretty amazing isn't it?" Tasha said from her seat on the other couch. Clint knew she was doing a better job of maintaining her composure than he was, but nonetheless, he heard a whisper of the little girl who missed out on Christmas year after year."

"Yeah. Hey, did you get a snowboard too?" Clint asked as he saw the black board with pink highlights on it.

"Yes. Let me know where you and Bruce decide to go."

"Absolutely. What else did you get?"

"Look at this dress, Clint. It's gorgeous."

Clint looked obediently at the dress. It was still in its box, but seemed to be trying to escape. There seemed to be more fabric than any dress could use. It was a pure black color, and looked to be silky to the touch. Clint was always truthful with Tasha, so he shrugged and said, "I can't tell. Why don't you go try it on, so I can see how it looks?"

Tasha looked at her partner, then around at the unopened gifts in front of her, then at the dress, clearly undecided, but then Pepper swept up, excitement in her eyes. "Oh good, you've opened it. I got a dress too. Let's go try them on. Oh, and bring that present and that one, too. You're going to need it."

Tasha's smile was one of pure pleasure as she juggled boxes and followed Pepper. Clint realized that his partner was no more immune to this display of kindness than he was himself. He resolved to get his emotions under control. He settled himself down, and reached for the last of his four gifts.

"Wait! You've got to open my gift. Before the girls get back! Cap, make yourself useful. Grab that one wrapped with the purple ribbon. Yeah, that one. And the one next to it. Yeah. Give them to Birdbrain. Okay, Clint, open them now, before Pepper and Natasha come back."

Always wary when Tony got excited, Clint cautiously pulled off the ribbon and picked at the tape at one end. Tony was practically jittering. "Come on, hurry it up. It's not going to bite you."

Clint took a deep breath, and opened the box to find a Starkpad and a thumb drive in a padded case. Tony was trying to watch both Clint and the hallway at the same time. "Well, go ahead. Boot it up."

Steve shook his head, and asked, "It's pornography, isn't it? That's why you waited until the girls were gone."

Tony snorted. "Birdy can get his own pornography. This is way better than any dirty pictures. But now that I think of it, why don't you go and put your snowboard away? Take your time."

Clint and Steve looked at each other, and a slow grin started on Clint's face. "It's something illegal, isn't it?"

"Um, not technically. Would you just turn it on, please?"

With a mix of anticipation and dread, Clint hit the start key. First screen to come up was a security screen. Clint nodded at the familiar function as he worked through setting up his account and password. To his surprise, Tony stayed quiet, letting him take his time. Once he'd worked his way through the several levels of security, the opening page came up. He stared at the title, not quite sure what to think. There was a stick drawing of a man with wings, and the title, "The Big Book Of Blind Spots, NYC edition."

"Uh, okay, what am I looking at?"

Tony called out, "Jarvis, explain it to the man."

The house A.I. spoke up. "Certainly, sir. Agent Barton, what you see before you is a comprehensive guide to the buildings of New York. Use the keyboard to type in an address or the name of the building, and a schematic will appear showing you were every camera, every laser trap, every alarm is. Where possible, it will display entry codes, and alarm shut down codes. It will also display every camera and alarm blind spot."

Clint blinked. He could feel Tony's eyes on him as the genius waited for his response, but in honest truth, he was speechless. The information that Jarvis so casually described was a major game changer for the archer. It was information that people would kill for. Hell, governments would kill for. And Stark was giving it away as a Christmas present.

Where Pepper's gift of socks had broken through his composure, making him display his emotions like an amateur, this… this caused him to totally shut down and become the cold calculating agent who had clawed his way to the top levels of SHIELD. "And this is the only copy?"

Stark deflated, apparently expecting a different reaction. Clint understood where the man was coming from, but he couldn't be anything other than what he was. It was Jarvis who replied. "Yes Agent Barton. The program that I was given automatically deleted the information from my databanks as soon as it was transcribed to the drive in your hand. Might I add that it is encrypted to the Starkpad provided, and only that Starkpad? Any attempt to use the drive in any other device will cause it to self-destruct."

"Okay, now, on these entry codes... Are we talking Tiffany's or are we talking the Metropolitan Water District?"

"Both, actually."

"And the alarm shut down codes. Are these computer access codes, or just free-standing alarm systems?"

"Most are computer systems, accessible through data collection points, however, private homes and smaller businesses still have some simple alarm systems."

"And I've got it all here on this drive."

"Yes, sir."

"So, what you're saying is, I have access to any building, any company, any computer system in the entire city. What about SHIELD? Do I have access there, too?"

"Yes, sir."

Clint nodded curtly. "Anybody else know about this? Did you cover your tracks?"

"No one apart from the people in this room is aware of this, and I am always very careful in my research. Agent Barton, I perceive a certain amount of tension in your voice. Are you not pleased with this gift?"

And that was the question. Clint had already come up with several different ways in which this information would give him insurmountable advantages. On the other hand, it was information that would be invaluable to his bosses at SHIELD. If he turned it over, as he should, he'd lose the advantage, but did he have a right to keep it to himself?

Tony was hanging on his answer, and he could see that Steve was starting to work out just what this information could do. He pulled the thumb drive from the pad and shut it down, closing the padded case with a snap. "Yeah. Yeah, Jarvis, it's a great gift. Tony, thank you."

Tony, perked up. "It's nothing. Think nothing of it. Now, that next gift, now that's something."

Clint looked at the next gift with some trepidation. With a deep breath, he dove in, ripping off the paper quickly as if that could somehow make the gift less… scary. When he had the box open, he found another case, similar to the first one, but much bigger. Swallowing, he said, "Uh, what's this?"

"Don't be such a wuss. Just open it."

Frowning, Clint opened the case, and immediately felt his heart stutter to a stop. This case was padded like the first, and filled with thumb drives each in its own padded space. Clint counted twenty in the first layer, and at least ten layers accordianed out. He fingered one, and saw LON neatly printed across the face. "Uh, this is London? How many cities have you got here?"

Jarvis answered. "At this point, I have completed 129 cities. The program is still running and is scheduled to complete in 3.7 years."

"Years? What, you're doing every city? In the world?" Clint felt his head starting to spin.

"No, sir. That would not be feasible. I am researching every city with a population over one million."

"And they're all encrypted to this one tablet? Christ, Tony, what if I lose it? What if it breaks?"

"Easy there, Legolas. If it breaks, I'll give you the encryption to set up a new one. If you lose it, it will fry the minute anyone without the right password tries to get Angry Birds on it."

"Tony… do you have any idea what you're giving me? Do you even have a clue?" Clint was at a loss. He didn't know whether to be thrilled or furious. And his default mode was always furious, so his voice got louder with each word.

Stark got this funny little smile on his face. "Birdy… Clint. I always have a clue. And yes, I know exactly what I am burdening you with. But see, I've watched you over the last six months, and I've seen how hard trust is for you. I've seen how you try to believe in us, but you just can't quite bring yourself to do it. I know where that comes from, because I have the same issues myself. I figured if I show you that I trust you with this, then eventually you might be able to trust me. I know it won't happen tomorrow, but it will happen, because I won't give you any reason for it not to happen. I need you on this team, so this is my Christmas Gift to you. It's trust in the form of a big ol' honkin' box of USB drives."

Clint stared at the man, thinking he was a lot harder to read when he was being sincere. He ran his hand over his face. "You couldn't have just gotten me a nice tie?"

Bruce, who had been sitting very quietly throughout, sighed loudly, and picked up a thin narrow box that obviously held a tie, and handed it to Clint, muttering, "Next year, we are definitely going to have a dollar limit."

Everybody laughed, and the tension was broken. Clint felt like he should have a set of handcuffs to lock the cases to his wrists. It still pretty much flabbergasted him that Tony would think it was a good idea to give this kind of information to a former thief-carnie-assassin. He sat for as long as he could, then fairly exploded from his seat, picking up the cases and muttering something about going to his quarters for a minute.

No sooner had he stood up, then Natasha and Pepper re-entered the room in a swirl of black and blue material. Clint hardly noticed, just walking past the two women saying "We need to talk," to Natasha.

He reached the elevator, and as he entered it, he heard Pepper yelling "Tony, what did you do?"

A smirk crossed his lips as he imagined Stark trying to explain why Clint had walked out. As the elevator door started to close, Natasha swept in with a rustle of heavy silk. Clint didn't say anything to her, wanting the privacy of his quarters to tell her about the 'gift'. Tasha gave him a dark look. "Walking out is rude."

Clint glanced over at her, noticing the sparkling earrings and necklace adorning the beautiful black off the shoulder ball gown. "You look nice."

The elevator door opened, and Tasha strode out, not looking at her partner, annoyance showing in every movement. Clint followed her to his door, and stepped forward to key it open, then stepped aside to let her enter first.

As soon as door closed, Tasha rounded on him. "What the fuck is wrong with you, Barton? It's only one day, and you didn't last a single damn hour. Well, you may be totally fucked up, but I am not going to miss out because of it."

Tasha turned her back on her partner and strode to the door. Clint sighed, saying, "Tasha, listen please."

Hearing the tone of his voice, Tasha paused with her hand on the doorknob. Realizing he had to talk fast, Clint indicated the cases he had carried in and said, "Stark handed me the city. And not just New York, he's given me the keys to just about every world capital, and every city of any size."

Tasha frowned. "What do you mean?"

"He had Jarvis get me the codes to access any computer in the city. I've got building schematics showing every security camera and alarm system including all of their blind spots."

"Everything? Including police systems?"

"Police systems and everything else up to and including SHIELD."

"Why?"

"I don't know. He says he's just showing that he trusts me, but why the hell would he trust me?"

"What are you going to do with it?"

"Find a deep pit and bury it."

"What about Fury?"

Clint got a pained look on his face. "I don't know. I thought I trusted him. I thought I could trust him, but ever since Phil died, I keep getting this feeling that something at SHIELD isn't right. And I haven't got the slightest idea if Fury is involved or not. Tasha, I'm not sure I trust the man any more."

It was a hard admission for Clint to make. Fury was one of a very small handful of people in the world that Clint trusted, and to lose that trust was painful in ways that the archer could hardly understand, let alone explain.

Tasha looked at her partner thoughtfully, then nodded. "We need to think this through before you do anything. But for now, we need to go back to the party."

Clint shook his head. "What the hell for?"

"To show them that you are a part of this team. To let Pepper continue to amaze you with completely unnecessary but wonderful gifts. To find out what a great Christmas is supposed to be like. Clint, I understand what you mean about things feeling wrong at SHIELD. I've noticed it to. But our future, yours and mine, lies with the Avengers Initiative, not with SHIELD. Now, gird your loins, and let's go."

"Gird my loins? That sounds indecent. But I can't, Tasha. I can't leave these damn records. What if something were to happen to them?"

Tasha gave her partner an exasperated look. "Jarvis, see the two cases on Clint's bed?"

"Yes, Agent Romanov."

"Guard them. Now, come on, before someone comes looking for us."

Reluctantly, Clint followed his partner out of the room, but not without several glances back at the two innocent looking cases on his bed. Back in the elevator, Clint said, "You really do look nice. Are those diamonds real?"

Tasha's hand when subconsciously to her ears. "Does it matter? They are pretty and I like them, they can be cut glass for all I care."

Clint hid his grin. Tasha's defensive tone told him the diamonds were either real, or at least she thought they were. "Well, they look very good on you. So, do you have a particular party in mind for the dress?"

"Pepper says there is a New Year's Ball that she hopes we can attend together." Tasha suddenly called out, "Jarvis, stop the elevator, please."

Clint turned to his partner with a questioning look. With a worried frown, Tasha asked, "Clint, can we keep these gifts? Can she truly have no ulterior motive?"

"You mean, is she likely to pull us aside in the middle of June and tell us it's time to pay the piper, and she needs us to assassinate Tony? No, I don't think she has a mean bone in her body. Everyone keeps telling me she just wants us to have the best Christmas ever, and I think I believe just that."

"Does it not worry you that she seems to know exactly what we will respond to?"

Clint shrugged. "Yeah, it does, actually. I didn't think either of us was that transparent. But if you think about it, now we know we have to be more careful around her. Around all of them, in fact. It's good to know."

Tasha nodded slowly, her hand again straying to the diamonds at her ears. "Yes. I am ashamed to admit, there is not a single thing that I have received that I would be willing to return."

Clint snorted, "It'd take someone stronger than the Hulk to get me to give up those socks."

Tasha looked Clint in the eyes, a happy smile on her face. "Then we shall keep everything we are given, and we shall be grateful, but not so grateful as to let down our guard."

Clint grinned. "It sounds like a plan to me. Jarvis, get us up to the party."

The elevator door promptly opened, revealing they had been on the communal floor right along. The two spies grinned at each other and headed for the living room. When they walked in, they found Steve, Thor and Pepper laughing together, but no sign of Bruce or Tony.

As soon as she saw them, Pepper stood up and narrowed her eyes, pointing her finger at Clint. "Clinton Francis Barton, I would have never taken you for a hoarder, and I'm telling you right now, I am not pleased."

Clint's face went still. "A hoarder? What have I been hoarding?"

"Oh, don't you play innocent with me! You, sir, are a gift hoarder. You save up your gifts so that you still have some to open after everyone else is done!"

Clint blinked. "Uh, what?"

"Don't deny it, I have the proof right here!" From somewhere in the folds of her shimmering blue ball gown, Pepper pulled the small gift that Clint had set aside, and waved it under his nose.

Clint backed up a step, then reached out and took the package gently from Pepper's hand. "Is there some unwritten rule that says I have to open every gift? I just thought this one was very pretty, and I was going to keep it as is."

Thor held out his hand, and when Clint gave him the package, he inspected it closely. "It is indeed very beautiful. I believe I would be tempted to leave it in its undamaged state, but friend Hawkeye, do you not wonder what such wrappings protect? Would not something so beautiful cover a rare treasure?"

Clint wasn't sure how to reply, but he was saved from answering when Bruce and Tony walked back into the room. Bruce was shaking his head, "Not necessarily, Thor. See, when you're orphaned, like Clint and I were, you had to take what you could get, and you found out pretty quick that what you got wasn't all that great. Most people, when they went shopping for charity gifts put a ten dollar limit on it."

Bruce shook his head. "How it got wrapped depended on where the people donated. Church groups and foster agencies tended to be practical. They used the cheapest paper available. But when private groups and corporations were involved, they'd spend a lot on the wrappings because it was a corporate statement of success and wealth. But if you were the kid on the other end, it was still the same cheap gift regardless of how it was wrapped."

Clint nodded his head in agreement. Bruce had explained it perfectly. Pepper looked like she could cry. "That can't be true. Not always. I know when we do our toy drive at Stark, everybody is very generous."

"Yes, but if they decided to spend fifty dollars, they'd buy five gifts for five kids instead of just one fifty dollar gift for a single kid. It makes your charity dollar go further. Now, don't get me wrong, it was good to get a gift at all. But kids like Clint and I, well, we just learned early on not to expect much."

"Yeah." Clint couldn't say any more. As it was, he was uncomfortable with Bruce revealing as much as he had about the circumstance of their childhood.

Pepper had teared up, and Tony came to her wrapping his arms around her, saying, "It's okay, Honey. Next Christmas, we'll do the charity stuff differently. We'll put these two party poopers in charge, and we'll make sure every kid gets a present worth 12.50. Wrapped in newspaper."

Pepper laughed, and nodded, holding on to Tony. Steve clapped his hands. "Well, now that we've had our share of Tiny Tim for the day, how about we get back to making a bigger dent in this pile?"

Everybody turned to Steve, and Clint sat back down in his spot, and put the beautiful gift behind his back. Pepper caught the movement out of the corner of her eye, and shook her head. "Clint, if you want a pretty box to keep on a shelf somewhere, I'll wrap you one, but that gift is worth more than ten dollars. A lot more than ten dollars, and I'll be very upset with you if you don't open it."

"He'll open it, if we have to hold him down and force him, but later. Here," Steve said, dropping a pile of gifts into Clint's lap. Clint was floored. It was hard enough getting the gifts one at a time, and harder when Steve had given him four at once, but this pile of sparkling papers and shimmering bows was almost more than he could deal with. There were large ones and small ones, a couple that were soft and a few that were not in traditional box shapes.

He looked over at Bruce who was equally covered in gifts, with the same deer-in-headlights look that Clint was sure was on his face. He leaned over toward the scientist, and whispered, "So, is this what Christmas is supposed to be like? So... so..."

"Overwhelming? I don't know. It's what I think I always imagined what Christmas must be like somewhere. But..." Bruce shook his head, as speechless as Clint.

Clint looked down at all the gifts piled around him. He said tentatively, "Uh, I think I like it."

Bruce gave him a helpless little smile. "Yeah, me too."

With that, the two Avengers plunged in, putting their inhibitions behind, and just enjoying. Clint found that everything Pepper had gotten him was something that he didn't even know he needed, but that once he opened the package, he realized that he did. The gifts ranged from simple, like the electric throw for his recliner to elaborate, like the envelope from Pepper with instructions on where to find the dog, hummingbird and hawk drones that 'matched' the cat drone that had annoyed Tony so much.

When he finally opened the last gift, his beautiful box containing a high end smart watch, he was both exhausted, and strangely a little disappointed that there was nothing else. He sat back trying to decide which of his new possessions he wanted to try first. He was convinced it would take him at least a month to go through everything he had, and he was wondering where he would put it all, when Tony spoke up, "Hey, who gets the big box?"

Clint glanced up, and sure enough, amongst the piles of shredded wrapping paper, and opened gifts littering the floor, was the big box at the back of the tree. He rolled his head on the couch back, too tired to actually lift it, to see what Pepper would say. "Hah! Not until all the other presents are open!"

She looked over at Steve, who looked up startled. He still had the present he was opening, and one other before he was done. Clint felt a surge of satisfaction that everyone was staring at the tall Avenger. Steve frowned, saying, "Hey, I was handing out gifts to everyone else, give me a break."

Bruce rolled his head toward Clint. "He fell behind."

"Kinda puts his leadership in question, doesn't it?" Clint deadpanned.

"What was that definition of gift hoarder, again?" Tasha asked.

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure he put one behind his back," Tony responded, "Only, it wasn't a pretty one."

"Friend Steve, perhaps I could assist you in opening that last package?" Thor reached to snag the gift, but Steve was faster, snatching it back onto his lap.

Everyone laughed, and though Steve did not raise his head from the box he was meticulously opening, there was a wide grin on his face. Clint watched for a moment, then a thought occurred to him. "Bruce, where were you and Tony earlier?"

Bruce looked over with a soft smile on his face. "You think you were the only one he was trying to blow away? He took me to show me what he got me. The 84th floor is now the most complete laboratory in the history of man, and it is mine, all mine."

Clint snorted. "I'll bet Steve feels left out."

"Uh, no, not quite. He got Steve his own airport. Complete with planes."

"You're kidding."

"And what are the chances of that?"

"Crap. The man knows how to spend money, doesn't he?"

"He does indeed."

Clint looked back to see Steve admiring a pair of driving gloves. He watched, not wanting to take away the joy of the gift, but Tony had no such compunctions. "Come on, Rogers, one more then you're done."

Steve ostentatiously took a moment longer to look at his new gloves, then turned his attention to his last gift. He picked up the box and inspected it carefully, before pulling ribbon slowly.

"What are you doing, a striptease?" Tony asked with exasperation. Steve just wiggled his eyebrows at the snickering throughout the room. He picked at a corner of the box, and pulled off a long strip of paper.

"Okay, it's open, now can we please see what's in the box behind door number one?" Tony begged.

Pepper rolled her eyes, then went to one of the cabinets against the wall. Opening the door, she pulled out a small silver tray. On the tray were six tiny packages. "Alright, now we're going to play a little game."

She held out the tray to Tony first, saying "yours is the red and gold one, and no, do not open it until I say so." She then moved about the room delivering identical gifts to each of the other Avengers. When she was done, she said, "Okay, now you can all open them."

There was a general rustling as each of the six Avengers opened up the small boxes. Clint was surprised to find an unmarked electronic key in his package. He looked up as Pepper said, "Tony! Stop that! Don't anyone else push their key, alright? Well, we know it's not Tony's key. We'll go around the room, and try the keys one at a time, okay? Bruce, you're first."

With a hopeful smile, Bruce pointed his key at the big box and pressed it. When nothing happened, everybody said "Aw." Smiling, Pepper pointed to Steve. "Okay, Cap, why don't you try?"

Steve pointed his key toward the box, and pressed it with no better result. Tony, looking disgruntled, spoke up, "I think my battery is dead. I need a new battery."

"So, does your brain run on triple a's or a nine-volt?" Clint asked.

Amid the general snickers, Stark stared at Clint, then said, "Let me have your battery."

"Sure thing,Tony. Just as soon as I've had my turn."

"You'll just have to wait a moment. It's Thor's turn."

The big Asgardian obediently pointed his key at the box and pressed it, then said, "I do not understand the point of this game."

Tony shook his head. "Once you've pressed the key, there is no point." He looked over at the two SHIELD agents and narrowed his eyes. "We should have known it would be one of the teacher's pets."

Clint smiled smugly, "You're just jealous because Pepper likes me better than you."

"Don't be so smug, Barton, I meant Romanov."

Tasha narrowed her eyes. "Did you just call me a.. "pet"? You think I am somebody's "pet?"

Clint smirked as Tony cringed, "Um, no, I mean, uh..."

"Enough you two. Natasha, if you'd be so kind as to try your key?"

Tasha pointed her key, and though Clint tried to convince himself it didn't matter, he found he was holding his breath. When she pressed her key and nothing happened, his eyes flew open. He stared down at the key in his hand, with his jaw slack.

Pepper said merrily, "Okay, Clint, your turn!"

He looked up at her disbelieving. With a slow smile starting he pointed his key at the box, and pressed, and there came the distinctive chirp of an electronic lock disengaging. There were cries of disappointment throughout the room, but Clint hardly heard them. Staring at the box, he asked, "Uh, so what it is, Pepper?"

Pepper leaned down and whispered in his ear. "Press the key a second time."

Swallowing hard, Clint pointed his key at the box a second time, and pressed it. With a full-throated roar, what could only be a motorcycle roared to life, bringing all movement in the room to a stop as everybody stared at the now vibrating box.

Clint could hardly catch his breath. He'd had a dirt bike for years, but this rumble could only come from a big bike, maybe even a Harley. He just stared, listening to the rumble. After a while, there was a hand on his shoulder, and when he looked up, Pepper was there, making a throat-cutting move, asking him to shut the bike down.

Clint felt a strong reluctance to shutting the bike down, almost as if he feared it would disappear if he couldn't hear it. But with Pepper staring right at him, he sighed and pressed his key one more time. The bike shut down, leaving a startling silence in its wake. Pepper looked around at the Avengers, all of whom were having a hard time taking their eyes off of the now silent box. With a fond shake of her head, she said, "Of course, I didn't just buy a lot of dummy keys. It wouldn't have been reasonable to have all six bikes in the living room."

There was a stunned silence in the room. "Rule number six. Nobody goes riding without their leathers. Clint, help me get the box off, then I'll roll it to the elevator to garage number three, and you can go put on your riding leathers. That way, they won't get away without you. People, if you are going to race, please make sure you're not downtown when you do it."

There was a moment more of stunned silence, then all of the Avengers sprang into movement, all but Clint running for their quarters, Clint sprinting across the room to haul the box off of his bike. When he saw it, he froze. It was indeed a Harley. He'd never seen anything more beautiful in his life. He reached out a hand to run it over the handlebars with a reverence he felt for nothing else. "Move it, buster. You can hump it later. Now, just go get dressed and have a good time with your friends."

Clint felt a bit surprised at her language, and was tempted to call rule number one, but in truth, he was stopped by that word friend. He was sure he didn't truly trust them. And he was positive that he would never be sure if he knew how to be a friend. But for today. For now, he could almost reach out and understand the meaning of the word. For today, he was willing, no, eager to try.

He looked at the woman beside him, noticing for the first time how lovely she was in the soft pale blue gown she wore. "Uh, you look really nice, Pepper."

Pepper looked up at him, surprised. "Why thank you, Clint! I appreciate that. Now, move your butt, or you'll be left behind."

"You sure you can handle this?"

"Please. I was riding hogs before there ever was an Avenger Initiative."

Clint grinned, and nodded, heading for his quarters, deciding that he liked Christmas. He liked Christmas a lot.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's note:** _Have you ever had a single scene pop into your head, and you write a story around it, and then realize that in writing the story, you totally forgot to write the scene in question? Sigh. That happens to me all the time. It happened with this story, which was intended to be a one shot. Well, here's that scene. It fits into the middle of the story, but can kinda stand on its own too. _

Clint sat staring at the American Giant hoodie. He'd heard of them, of course, but this was the first time he'd seen one up close. As advertised, the cloth felt good between his fingers, and it was a perfect shade of black. Clint didn't even know black had shades, but this thing just looked good. He wondered if he could sneak away just to try it on. Not in front of people. In his room, where he could have some privacy.

"Hey." Clint looked up at the softly spoken word. At the other end of the couch, Bruce gave a weary smile. "Are you as wiped out as me?"

Clint snorted. Who would have known that opening Christmas gifts could be so exhausting. He was more than ready to just walk away from that never-ending pile of gifts. He looked at the tree, and for his life, he couldn't see that they had made any dent in the mother load of presents. He looked back at Bruce and nodded. "Maybe if we gathered all the shredded wrapping paper, we could camouflage ourselves and escape."

From across the room, Pepper spoke up. "Alright, I think it's time for a break. Steve, you can relax for a while."

Rogers, who was bent over close to the tree, replied, "Sure, but I just want to deliver this one last gift." He spun around, and pulling his arm back fired a package across the room, right at Clint's head. "Hawkeye! Think fast!"

Clint's reflexes were as sharp as ever, and he dropped the hoodie, and reached up and caught the gift that spiraled in. It was shaped like a football, and Clint had to resist the temptation to throw it away as hard as he could. Instead, he held it on his lap, staring at it, a rock hard lump forming in his throat.

Pepper, sensing his distress, quickly called out, "Well, Steven, get a gift for Tony. And one for everyone else. Then we are taking a break."

Clint fought for composure. He'd had long years to put those particular memories to bed, and he had no desire to re-visit them in this crowded room. He sensed Tasha freezing momentarily, then her soft voice called out, "Clint?"

"I'm fine," he barked out the automatic response. But he wasn't. He could feel the memory like a suffocating blanket fall over him. He'd been all of six years old. Newly orphaned, and still young and stupid enough to believe in the fairytale called Christmas.

_He and Barney had been placed in a foster home just two months earlier, and Clint had found it okay. Not great, but at least he didn't have to worry about being beaten by his father. His foster parents pretty much ignored him. Probably because he didn't try to burn things up like Barney did. He had two older foster brothers who would have picked on him if they weren't so afraid that Barney would set their beds on fire, like he threatened. _

_There was also a foster sister. She was just three years old, and Clint hadn't liked her a bit. She was always crying and hitting him and getting him in trouble. Barney was as willing to protect Clint from her as he was from her brothers. But even at six, Clint had realized that a little girl was not fair game, so when Barney had looked at her with murder in his eye, Clint had worked hard to distract him. _

_When Christmas rolled around, Clint had been excited. The kids at school all believed they would get fabulous gifts from Santa Claus as long as they were mainly good. Clint wanted presents just as much as the next kid, but he worried about the good part. _

_He was pretty sure he was responsible for the accident that killed his parents. He'd learned about God and praying from one of the girls in his school, and he had prayed nightly that God would take his father away. He didn't really mean for God to kill him, he just wanted him to go away. He figured that God listened to his prayers, but decided he didn't deserve his mom if he didn't want his father._

_But despite his worry, he really wanted a football. He wanted a football all his life, but before, there was no way his father would have gotten him one. He wanted a football more than anything. He thought now that he was in a different house, Santa Claus wouldn't know it was him. If maybe he was good now, Santa Claus wouldn't realize what a truly bad boy he was and he would give Clint his football. _

_From Thanksgiving on, Clint tried to be a very good boy, and even though he had a few lapses, he was pretty sure he was at least as good as his classmates, who went on and on about the great presents they were going to get. _

_Clint grew even more excited when his foster mother told him there there was going to be a party at the foster agency, and Santa Claus would be there to give out gifts. Clint had grown more talkative than he'd ever been, pestering his foster mother with questions, trying to figure out if it was the real Santa that would be there. He's asked over and over if she thought Santa would bring any footballs to the party until she'd finally grown exasperated and sent the boy out to play._

_The night before the party, he had not been able to sleep at all, and in the middle of the night, he'd crawled into bed with his brother. Barney told him not to get his hopes up. He already was getting a better understanding of their new lot in life, and he told Clint that just because he wanted something, didn't mean he'd get it. And then he reminded Clint of all the years before his parents died when Santa had never come, and Christmas was just a miserable day like any other._

_Clint was upset by his brother's words, but he had no where else to turn, so he had cuddled up close to the older boy, and tried not to think about Christmas at all. The next day, due to lack of sleep, he had been sullen, and his foster mother threatened to stay home from the party. Clint tried not to care, but when she relented, he felt his hope blossom. He felt if he could just talk to Santa, he could get his football and show Barney he was wrong._

_That afternoon, the party was full of cheer, with games and lunch, and finally, Santa Claus came out from behind a big, decorated door. To Clint's eyes, it was magical. Santa looked just like he did in the movies, carrying a large sack and calling out a jolly hello to all of the kids that gathered around. _

_He was told to line up with the other children, and in a last ditch attempt to show how good he was, he let the littler kids get in front of him. He watched Santa as he called each child forth, scrutinizing how the man listened, and what gift he gave each child. It seemed to take forever before his turn came, and suddenly, Clint was overcome with shyness. _

_Santa smiled, shifted his glasses, and gestured for Clint to come forward. Hanging his head, Clint moved over to the man, and when Santa put a gloved finger under his chin, and lifted his head to face him, it was all Clint could do to keep from crying. He could tell that this was the real Santa, and he just knew that Santa knew who was responsible for his parents' death. _

_To Clint's surprise, Santa didn't tell him he didn't deserve a Christmas present. Instead the man just asked him what he wanted for Christmas. Clint whispered that he wanted a football. Santa moved in closer and said, "Did you say a football?"_

_Clint froze. In moving closer, Santa had exhaled on the boy, giving him a good whiff of Christmas cheer. It was a smell that Clint was intimately familiar with. It was how his father's breath usually smelled, and to Clint, it was the smell of fear and pain. He backed away, confusing Santa. When he was out of arms reach, he turned to run. Santa called out, "Clint? Clint, don't go without your present! It's right here, come on, son, I won't hurt you."_

_Warily, Clint turned back. Santa was frantically digging around in his sack, muttering something to the lady dressed like an elf. Suddenly, they both reached in, then the elf backed off, and Santa looked over at Clint, gesturing him forward. Clint stood frozen, but suddenly, Santa was holding out a football shaped gift. Clint wrinkled his nose at the pink My Little Pony wrapping paper, but it was definitely a football, he could just tell. Almost without his control, his feet carried him back to where Santa waited patiently. _

_The smiling man held out the shockingly pink gift, and as soon as Clint could reach it, he snatched it and backed away. With a sad smile, Santa Claus nodded, saying, "Merry Christmas, Clint."_

_The sheer kindness in Santa's eyes caused Clint's own eyes to fill with water, and the boy reached up and swiped his arm across his face. He hurried away, totally confused. He didn't know how to reconcile the smell with the kindness. _

_The fact was, he'd known very little kindness in his life. His father was simply a mean-spirited man who turned cruel when he drank. His mother has seemed kind in comparison, but the truth was, her life was consumed with her own survival, and she had little time to think of her children. Not even his brother Barney could be considered kind. He protected Clint more out of pride than love, and even at that early age, Clint could see the cruelty of their father in him sometimes. _

_His foster mother had taken the gift from him as soon as he reached her saying it would be under the tree on Christmas morning. Clint had become upset, and tried to snatch back his football, and 'caused a scene,' so his foster mother had packed him and his brother into the car and taken them home before the end of the party. _

_Clint had sulked all the rest of the day until his foster father had come home, and told him that Santa would take his present back on Christmas Eve if he was bad. Clint felt his heart drop to his toes at that, and later that night, he'd gone to his brother and asked him if Santa was an indian giver. Barney had brushed him off telling him he had no way of knowing,but it wouldn't surprise him._

_For the few days remaining before Christmas, Clint had tried really hard to be good. He helped around the house, he ignored his foster sister when she hit him, he even ignored the taunts of his foster brothers who'd seen the wrappings on his football and taken to calling him Clintina. _

_All that mattered to him was getting his present from Santa. He even lost sight of his desire for a football. He was just determined to prove to Santa that he was worthy of receiving a gift. When Christmas Eve finally came, he went to bed without any fuss, even though Barney and his foster brothers were allowed to stay up later. _

_In his bed, Clint strained his ears, listening for any sound of sleigh bells. He fell asleep even before his brother came to bed, but then he awoke in the wee hours of the morning. He listened to the silence in the house, and he wondered if Santa Claus had come yet. _

_Suddenly filled with fear, Clint sat up in his bed. What if Santa had come, and taken his present? What if Santa had realized he was the boy who had killed his parents? Clint looked over to where his brother was soundly sleeping. He wanted to wake Barney up. He wanted Barney to tell him it would all be okay, but he knew his brother wouldn't tell him that. He knew his brother didn't believe things would ever be okay. _

_Clint knew he wasn't supposed to get out of bed, but he just had to know. He got up, and tiptoed to the door. He listened as hard as he could, but there was no sound. Holding his breath, he opened the door, and peeked out. _

_The entire house was dark and quiet. Taking a deep breath, Clint tiptoed out of his room, and made his way to the stairs. He stood at the top of the stairs for a bit, again listening. When he heard no sound, he went down the stairs as quiet as a mouse. When he could see the front room, he paused. _

_Someone had left the light in the singing angels decoration on, and by it's soft glow, he could just make out the tree, and the reflection of gifts wrapped in shiny paper underneath. He took a deep shuddering breath. Santa Claus had been there. _

_Clint stood there for a long time. His legs did not want to move. He wanted desperately for his gift to be there, but he was terrified that it was not. Finally with a jerk, he went out into the room, and moved over to the Christmas tree. He sat in front of the pile of gifts, and started looking for his football. _

_It was really too dark to see, and he was trying to feel the shape of the ball, but he wasn't having any luck. He searched, becoming more and more desperate as time passed and his gift wasn't there. He had started out being as quiet as he could, but eventually, he stopped paying attention to the sounds he was making. _

_When the lights in the living room suddenly blazed on, he was totally startled. He looked up to find his foster father there, holding a baseball bat, and deep frown on his face. Flushed with guilt, Clint leapt to his feet, and stood there, his head down, tears streaming unheeded down his face. When his foster father had asked him what the hell he was doing, Clint had just shrugged. _

_The man wasn't cruel or even mean, really. He saw Clint's tears, and realized what the boy wanted. He shook his head, and held out his hand. Full of despair, Clint had taken the hand, fully expecting to be led back to bed, and given a beating. Instead, Clint was led to the side of the tree, and a patch of pink paper was pointed out to him. _

_Clint's breath had caught. His foster father quietly said that Clint should understand that there was a difference between being a bad boy, and being a good boy who occasionally did bad things. His foster father told him he was a good boy, and Clint had almost believed it. He'd smiled up at his foster father, and let the man lead him back to bed, and tuck him in. _

_When Clint woke Christmas morning, he was surprised that he had fallen back to sleep. He heard his foster brothers thundering down the stairs, and he jumped out of bed, and ran to wake Barney. His brother threw a pillow at him, but Clint persisted. He wanted to go see if Santa had left him anything else, but he was not brave enough to face his foster brothers on his own. With an air of exasperation, Barney finally sat up, and when Clint tugged him to his feet, he didn't resist. _

_Clint could see the almost-hope in his brother's face, and he pulled Barney along, happy that he would prove to him that Santa Claus and magic existed in their gray world. When they reached the living room, Clint headed straight to exactly where he knew his gift from Santa awaited. He was stopped short when the older of his two foster brothers stepped in front of him, and told him that they couldn't open any presents until their parents were up. With a smirk, the older boy told him that until then, they could get into their Christmas stockings._

_Clint looked over to the fireplace, and was surprised to see stockings hanging there. His step brothers had already gotten theirs, and there were two left. With a frown, Clint went over and examined the stockings. They were made of needlepoint, and they each depicted Christmas scenes. Each stocking was personalized with a name, and Clint's heart fell when he realized one had Barney's name on it, but the other was emblazoned with his foster sister's name._

_When Clint asked where his was, his foster brothers both shrugged, hiding their smirks lest Barney see them. Barney came over and lifted his stocking from the hook, and put his arm around Clint's shoulders telling him that he would share until they found Clint's. His tone indicated that whoever had hidden it would suffer his wrath, but Clint suspected that Santa was sending him a message, letting him know he hadn't been fooled._

_Clint sat next to his brother, despondent. He watched apathetically as Barney pulled oranges and apples and puzzles and other small toys from the stocking. He didn't want to share Barney's stocking. It wasn't fair to his brother. He nodded as Barney displayed each thing he pulled out, but didn't reach for anything. _

_Barney had long since pulled the last of the nuts from the bottom of his stocking when their foster parents came down the stairs, carrying their foster sister, and yawning. The little girl wiggled until she was let down, then she ran to get her stocking. As if just remembering something, Clint's foster mother came over to the couch and squatted in front of him, explaining that she had only the time to finish Barney's stocking, but not Clint's. She told him he could share his brother's this year, then next Christmas, he would have his own._

_Clint listened, shocked at what she said. Santa hadn't brought the stockings? But he thought... he looked down at a weight on his legs. Barney had given him his stocking, saying he didn't need a bunch of fruit anyway. Clint had just stared at it, only peripherally aware of his foster parents whispered argument over whether she should have bought a stocking of some sort. _

_Clint swallowed hard and asked meekly if he could open his presents yet. There was a brief pause as all of the children in the room turned hopeful eyes to the adults. Caught red-faced with his anger, the foster father swallowed hard, and smiled gamely, gesturing to the tree and telling the children to go pick a gift. _

_Clint beelined for his football. When each child had a package in hand, the foster father nodded with a more genuine smile, telling them all to go ahead. With his heart full, Clint pulled off the offensive pink wrapping paper, and found a hard plastic football shaped case. Frowning, but still believing, Clint opened the case, hoping to find his football within. He slumped down when he saw instead that the case was a whimsical dollhouse fitted with little furniture, and with a tiny plastic pony dressed in football gear. _

_A hard lump formed in his throat as he realized that Santa Claus had been messing with him the entire time, and had never intended to give him a gift. He was a bad boy, and even Santa Claus knew it._

Clint shook himself to free his mind of the smothering memory. He knew Steve couldn't have had any idea that a football shape wrapped in pink would cause him such distress, and he knew he would not under any circumstances find a dollhouse in the wrapping.

He took a deep breath telling himself to man up, and he started picking at the paper. Steve, having delivered gifts to everyone else slid in next to Clint and said, "Sorry about the paper, man. It's all I could find."

"No problem. I just figured you had the hots for Dora the Explorer."

"Is that what that is? I had to get it at this little old Chinese lady's store last night. I don't know where she pulled it from, but I was grateful to get it."

Clint looked over at his team mate like he was crazy. "You could have just taped the bag closed. Oh, wait, is this one of those giant fortune cookies? Because I have to tell you, they're always stale."

Steve grinned in anticipation, "Just open it. I'm pretty sure you're going to like it."

Clint sighed. "Well, as long as there's no pressure." Clint finally got a good grip on the paper, and pulled it all off in one sharp tug. There, in a hard plastic case was a regulation football, and taped to its side were a pair of tickets. With a slow smile, Clint looked closer at the tickets. "Damn, it's for the Pats Giants playoff game! Where the hell'd you get these?"

Steve rolled his eyes. "There are actual perks to being Captain America. There's a parking pass there too. You and Tasha should have a good time."

"Tasha? At a football game? Like that would ever happen. No, you've got to come with me. We'll drink beer and tailgate and watch the Pats go down."

"Seriously? That'd be great!"

"All right, everyone. No more gifts for a little while. Instead, everyone come get their stockings. There's fruit in them and I think we could all use a bit of a sugar boost." Pepper stood up and moved toward the faux fireplace.

Surprisingly, Bruce was the first to stand up. When he saw everyone looking at him, he grinned sheepishly and shrugged. "I've always thought stockings were the best part."

Steve and Clint shared a smile at the scientists enthusiasm, but neither of them stood up. Clint's stomach was tightening up on him again. He'd seen that there was one stocking short, and it so reminiscent of that first Christmas, that he couldn't bring himself to face the disappointment.

"Steven Rogers!" Pepper called out, sounding so much like an aggrieved mother that Steve couldn't help himself. He sat up straight, and gulped. "Yes, Pepper?"

"Where is your stocking?"

Steve relaxed slightly. "It's in my bedroom. If you get up before anyone else, you can take your stocking into your bedroom. That's a rule. I'm surprised you didn't know that, Pepper."

"Yeah, Pepper," Tony called out from his seat, his mind on looking at some toy he'd pulled from his stocking.

"Well, of course I knew that. I just didn't realize you'd gotten up that early. Clint? Are you waiting for someone to bring yours to you, because it's not going to happen."

"Hey, I've got a robot that can bring it to you!"

"No thanks," Clint was casual as he replied and went over to the fireplace. He swallowed a lump in his throat as he looked at the beautifully stitched winter scene on his stocking. He couldn't quite keep the soft smile from his face as he carried it back to his seat. The scent of tangerines and chocolate wafted up, and almost against his will, a hole in his soul was stitched up.


End file.
